Meghan Sterling

In My Dreams the World Is a Mango-Flavored Orgy


Last night I dreamt I was a Tigerlily, a yawning
orange tongue knocking against the rigid tangle
of chain-link fence. There was an ice cream stand
where topless people handed out free gelato. Mango.
Lemon. In the summer, I have to pull myself away
from dreaming. Something about the heat, the way
it presses me heavily into the bed. The sheets a knot
of sweat and memory. Then there are all the treats.
Mango gelato. Floral skirts and sandals. The little
place where a person’s t-shirt cuts soft across the beam
of a bicep. I want to lick it just there, underneath.
The truth is, in the summer, I want to eat the world,
or at least, have a small nibble. Is it strange to want
to bite into everyone and everything? Just to taste.